


Ink

by Jenksel



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Another Hint of Jenkins's Deep Dark Past, Casskins, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Married Casskins, Tattoos, married Cassandra/Jenkins l Galahad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 10:17:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenksel/pseuds/Jenksel
Summary: Cassandra learns the meaning of the proverb, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions", while Jenkins learns that, sometimes, 'permanent' doesn't necessarily mean 'forever'.





	Ink

The team had been gone on a mission to Greenland for two weeks, most of that time spent in a part of the country that had no cell service and was as remote and isolated as it could get.  The entire time, Jenkins fretted about the safety of the Librarians and their Guardian, but he especially worried about the safety of his wife, Cassandra.  There was a time not long ago when he would’ve given anything to be rid of the Librarians and their new Guardian, but now all he wanted was to see them come back through the Annex’s magic door, safe and sound.  And, he missed Cassandra terribly.  He had his pet tea dragon, Franklin, to distract him and he was very grateful for that companionship, but as much as he loved Franklin, there were simply _some_ spaces the energetic little dragon couldn’t fill.  Such as the several nights over the last two weeks, when Jenkins had awoken in the dark and reached across the bed for Cassandra, his body aching to hold her, only to be heartbroken at the realization that she was still gone.  He was ecstatic when he finally received the call from Colonel Baird that the mission was successful and the team would be coming home the next day, and the overjoyed Caretaker began counting the minutes.

As soon as Cassandra was back in the Annex the next morning, safe and whole, Jenkins could hardly restrain himself.  Unfortunately, Colonel Baird insisted on going straight into a mission debriefing with everyone that took several agonizing hours.  The immortal barely heard a word of what anyone said at the meeting, all he could focus on was his beloved’s face, all he could think of was getting his wife alone in their bedroom and making slow, delicious love to her. 

At last the debriefing ended and Cassandra was free. The second they entered the hallway, Jenkins slipped his arm through hers and bent his white head to her ear, whispering something that made her blush and snicker softly as she dropped her gaze to the floor.  While Jake and Ezekiel grinned knowingly at each other and shook their heads, Jenkins quickly led her to their suite, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt as they hurried through the hallways.

As soon as the immortal had her behind closed doors, he began kissing her body, slowly removing her clothing as he went and enjoying every tantalizing second.  He removed her top and bra first, taking his time as he kissed and nuzzled and sucked on her plump, perfect breasts, immensely enjoying the sighs and moans he elicited from his young Librarian.  God, how he had missed hearing the sound of her voice!

He knelt on the floor in front of her, Cassandra playing with the hair on the back of his head as he began to kiss his way down her stomach.  He slipped his hands around Cassandra’s waist to unzip her skirt and eagerly tugged it over her hips and thighs, his brown eyes glittering with building anticipation.  As they travelled over her abdomen, those eyes suddenly discovered something new and unexpected:  The sharp, black outlines of a small Elder Futhark rune, _fehu_ , slightly stylized to look more feminine, just inside her hipbone.  Blinking in puzzlement at the sight, the realization suddenly struck Jenkins that this was a tattoo.  He sat back on his heels, staring at her stomach in shock

A _tattoo_!  And not just any tattoo, either.  He immediately recognized it as a much smaller version of the one that he bore on his right arm—a tattoo that he hated with every fiber of his being.  A tattoo that identified him as the slave of a Viking master many centuries ago, marking him forever as the property of someone else. 

A slave mark!  He shook his head in appalled disbelief.  A slave mark, marring his wife’s beautiful, soft, porcelain skin!  A wave of nausea washed over him as unbidden memories of that terrible time rose to the surface.  For several seconds all he could do was to stare at the hateful rune, not wanting to believe what he was actually seeing, then he dragged his eyes up to look into the young woman’s face.

“My God, Cassandra, what have you done?” he whispered numbly.  Misreading his reaction, the redhead smiled shyly and took his hands in hers.

“I got it while we were in Greenland,” she said enthusiastically.  “There was a tattoo shop in Nuuk that specialized in Viking designs, and Jake said that they were legit.  It’s something that I’ve been thinking about doing for a while now, and it just seemed like the perfect opportunity to go ahead and do it!  Though I probably should’ve waited until _after_ the mission to do it.”  She wrinkled her nose at the memory of trying to work a difficult mission with a fresh, healing tattoo on her stomach.  Jenkins now had a name for what he was feeling about this new adornment of Cassandra’s; he was completely sickened.

“But… _why_?  _Why_ would you do such a thing?” he asked in bewilderment.  Cassandra was confused now; this wasn’t the reaction she had been expecting.

“Because I’ve always wanted a tattoo, ever since I was a teenager.  When I saw yours, I really liked it.  I did some research and learned that it symbolizes abundance and new beginnings.  Now that my tumor is gone and I have a new lease on life, now that I have this new enhanced gift, now that we’re together and have this new life—I thought that would be perfect for me.  I took a picture of yours one morning while you were asleep and showed it to the tattoo artist.  He was able to copy it and make it more girly-looking for me with no problems.”  Her face fell at his stony expression, and suddenly she felt very self-conscious.

“You don’t like it, do you?” she asked quietly, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.  Realizing that he had hurt her feelings, Jenkins hurried to placate her.

“No, no.  It’s not that, Cassandra,” he fibbed.  He turned his back to her and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of her, one large hand covering his mouth, too dizzy now to remain on his knees.  “Well, not _completely_ that.  It’s just that…”  He paused and buried his face in his hands for a moment, struggling to gather his thoughts so he could explain his reaction to her in a way that she could understand.  The Librarian slipped her skirt and top back on, then moved to kneel on the floor in front of her husband.  He raised his head, his troubled brown eyes meeting her troubled blue ones.

“In my younger days, when I received _my_ tattoos, they weren’t just for body decoration, as they mostly are nowadays.  They were done deliberately, they had a purpose.”  He placed his right hand on the left side of his body, where some of his own tattoos were located. 

“Mine are for the purposes of protection and luck in battle, to ward off curses and evil spirits.  We truly believed in the magical power of their symbology and their creation.  But not all tattoos were for magical purposes.  Some tattoos were for more…mundane reasons.”  He forced a smile to his lips, trying to keep the mood light and to reassure Cassandra.

“I mentioned to you once that I had been captured as a prisoner of war and then sold into slavery.  I won’t go into the details now, but suffice it to say that those years were not a pleasant time for me.  I’ve tried to forget those years.”  Jenkins paused for a moment as he tried to find the words he needed.  

“The man who bought me had that sign and the other runes tattooed on the arms of all of his slaves,” he said quietly.  “Nowadays, thanks mainly to the New Age movement, that rune has come to mean what your research told you.  But it’s a very broad, loose interpretation.”  The immortal’s voice grew rough and harsh as he unwillingly remembered the day he was tattooed with the rune.

“When they forced me to ground and held me there while they marked me with it—it had a much more practical meaning.  It meant simply ‘cattle’.  As in, ‘you are nothing to us but a head of cattle, a piece of property’.  It means that I am a slave. To this day it still marks me as such, as a piece of their property,” he said, dropping his gaze in shame as more memories welled up of those long years of oppression and degradation.  With effort he quashed them immediately, before they could overwhelm him.

“When I saw this,” he said, his voice thin as he reached out to stroke her hip with one hand, “it shocked me.  The only thing I saw was a rune that now marks _you_ as his ‘property’, too.  And the idea of you as the property of a brutal, savage monster like him…”  He fell silent and closed his eyes, shaking his head slowly as he ruthlessly pushed down the ugly recollections that fought to be expressed.  A look of horror and revulsion came to Cassandra’s face as she realized what she had done.    

“I’m…I’m sorry, Jenkins!  I’m so stupid and I’m so sorry!”  She reached out her hand to touch his cheek as the words tumbled out of her.  “I just thought it would be a nice way to show you that you’re special to me, a little secret that only we two know about, like getting a tattoo of your name, only not as obvious.”  Trying to make the best of the awkward situation, she smiled weakly and tried to make light of it. 

“I guess I should’ve just stuck with English, huh?  That way there’s no misunderstandings.  I should’ve just gotten a tattoo that says ‘Property of Jenkins’…”  The immortal blanched and painfully grasped her shoulders with both hands.

“Iesu, Cassandra!  Don’t _ever_ say that again!  You are _free_ ; I don’t own you!  _No one_ owns you except yourself!” he rasped fiercely.  At the startled look on her face, Jenkins got to his knees and put his arms around her tightly.

“I’m sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to frighten you; please forgive me!” he said huskily.

“It’s okay—bad choice of words on my part,” she murmured reassuringly.  She gently pushed herself out of his arms and leaned back so she could see his face.  “But now who’s the one who doesn’t remember our wedding vows?” she said, her voice low and steady as she looked intently into his dark eyes. 

“I _am_ yours, Jenkins, I _do_ belong to you.  My heart, my body, my mind, my soul, my spirit—all yours, and yours alone.  I gave them to you freely, because I trust you to love and cherish them.  I gave them to you not as a slave, but as your wife, your partner.  For as long as I live.”  She pulled him to herself, hugging him again to her body. 

“I’m sorry about the tattoo, sweetheart.  I just didn’t think, and I should have, Jenkins, especially knowing that you have so much history.  I don’t ever want to make you feel badly or upset you like this.  And even without all the history, a tattoo _is_ kind of a big deal, and I should’ve talked to you about it first, anyway.”

“No,” he said firmly, taking up her hand and kissing it.  “If it pleases _you_ , Cassandra, that’s all that matters.  I became caught up in my own foolish thinking.  I see my scars and tattoos, I recall _how_ I acquired them, and to me they’re only flaws and marks of shame.”  He sucked in a deep breath and shook his head slightly.  “But that’s _not_ the case with you.”  The immortal leaned forward and kissed her forehead, brushing his long fingers over the place where her tattoo was located.

“You _chose_ this, and for a completely innocent reason.  It wasn’t forced upon you.  And when I saw it, I reacted very stupidly.”  He leaned forward again and kissed her, his lips barely grazing hers, then nuzzled her cheek.  He began sprinkling tiny kisses all over her face, gradually drifting downward over her throat.  He raised his head to look at her, an exaggerated, wide-eyed and penitent look on his face.  “Forgive me?”  Cassandra laughed at the hangdog expression he always used when he knew he was in the wrong and tried to patch things up between them.  He knew that she couldn’t resist it.

“Of course I forgive you!” she said happily, and bent forward to give him a lingering kiss, her fingers sliding into his silver hair.  When the kiss ended, she touched her forehead against his, her eyes closed as she breathed in his scent. 

“And don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll get the tattoo removed as soon as possible,” she murmured, landing a tiny peck on the tip of his nose. 

Jenkins pushed away from her and stared at his wife quizzically. 

“What do you mean ‘removed’?” he asked.  “Tattoos don’t come off, my dear.”  It was the Librarian’s turn to look at her husband with a quizzical expression.

“Um, yeah, actually, they _do_ ,” she stated.  He looked at her as though she had just told him that she was pregnant with a litter of puppies.

“They...can be _removed_?” he asked, certain that he didn’t understand her correctly.  “ _Tattoos_ can be removed?  As in, no longer visible on a person’s body?”  Cassandra laughed, the sound like a small brook of water.  When she saw the look on his face, she realized that he was serious.  He truly didn’t know!

“Of course!” she replied.  “They’ve been doing it for years now.  You _really_ need to get out of the Annex more often, sweetie!” 

“But... _how_?” he asked. 

“With lasers,” she explained.  “They break up the pigments in the ink into teeny, tiny, microscopic particles and the body expels them naturally.  Eventually the tats just fade away, or nearly fade away.  It depends on the tattoo—how big it is, what kind of pigment was used, how dark a tat is, the color, how deeply into the skin the pigment is.”

Jenkins dazedly placed his left hand on his right shoulder, where the cluster of Viking runes was located. 

“I can have them removed?” he breathed, almost speaking to himself.  He looked into her eyes.  “I can be... _free_?”  The look of pure disbelief and fragile hope on his face as her words sank in nearly broke the Librarian’s heart.  Had he _really_ been living all this time with the idea that he was still somehow a slave to those long-dead people, that he was _still_ somehow their property?  Cassandra leaned forward and slid her arms around his neck.

“I’ll make an appointment with a dermatologist for you if you want?” she offered as Jenkins wrapped his own long arms around his petite wife.  Tears for him came to her eyes when she felt his arms trembling slightly as he held her.

“Yes,” he said, nodding his head slowly, almost unable to believe this was real.  After so many centuries…  “Yes, please do.”

 

* * *

 

Less than a month later, Jenkins, dressed only in a pair of deep red silk pajama bottoms, paused for a moment as he prepared for bed and peered intently at his reflection in the full-length mirror in his dressing room.  It had been a few days since his final tattoo removal procedure, and though there was still a slight pink tinge to several areas of his right shoulder, upper arm and upper chest—all bare of ink now except for a wide band of stylized Celtic hounds, oak leaves and knotwork around his right bicep.  The dermatologist had said that the redness where the removed tattoos had been was to be expected and would fade away with time.  The doctor had been very pleased with the results of the procedures, and very impressed by how quickly a man in his 60’s like Jenkins was healing.  The immortal had merely smiled and said nothing.

He shook his head at his reflection; he looked so different now!  He’d taken the opportunity to have not only the Viking tattoos removed, but several others he disliked as well.  He kept only the ones that were directly related to his heritage and to his position as a Knight of the Round Table: the falcon glyph of his name on his abdomen, the hounds on his right arm, and a large Celtic-style dragon tattoo that covered his entire left shoulder and upper arm.  The dragon’s head stretched down across his collarbone to rest on his left upper chest, while its tail wrapped around his upper arm three times, ending just above his elbow.  The immortal still couldn’t believe that the other tattoos were really gone—those hateful marks of shame and humiliation that he had borne for so very long, reminding him daily when he saw them in this very mirror of the cruelty he had suffered at the hands of others.  And now they were gone, thanks to his beautiful Cassandra!  She was right, he _did_ need to get out of the Annex more often.

While he had been excited and eager to be rid of them, Jenkins was surprised by the visceral feeling of relief that he felt when they were finally removed, the sheer _physical_ freedom he felt.  With the property marks gone, he finally felt that he truly _was_ free of that awful past.  He had intellectually known all along that he was free, of course, but now no one could point to a certain mark on his body and say _That is my mark; his is my property_ , and it was a wonderfully intoxicating feeling for the old knight.  He still bore the scars those men had also given him, but Jenkins regarded those as badges of honor, proof to the world that those men had not broken him, that he had been stronger than them in the end, that he was a true warrior and a survivor. 

He smiled at his reflection, then glanced down at his left hip where a thin rectangle of white peeked above the waistband of his pajama bottoms.  He pulled the waistband down and lightly touched the large, square sterile gauze pad taped in place there, wincing a little at the twinge of pain.  _A couple of days and I’ll be free of that, as well!_ he thought happily.  And not too soon, either.  He wanted this to be a surprise for Cassandra, though he wasn’t sure yet what excuses he would use to avoid being intimate with her and thus spoiling the surprise.

Suddenly a pair of small, fine hands appeared from behind his reflection and wrapped themselves around his stomach, and he felt Cassandra’s warm body press against his back through the silk of his red pajama top that she was wearing.

“Admiring yourself _again_ , you vain thing?” she teased as she gave him a hug.  She peered around his side and into the mirror.  “You look so different without all of those other tattoos!”

“I was just thinking that very thing,” he said, bringing his arms up to cover hers as they both looked into the mirror.  “What do you think, my dear?  Do you still find me attractive with so much less ‘ink’?”

“I find you _very_ attractive!” she purred.  “In fact, I find you sexy as hell!”  The tall man in the mirror laughed.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” he said.  Cassandra only tightened her arms around his middle.

“I mean it,” she said.  “With just these tattoos that are left, all the same style and everything, they make you look so—warrior-like.”  She looked into his reflection’s dark eyes.  “I bet you were _totally_ hot when you were a knight at Camelot—like, movie-star hot!”  Jenkins laughed again.

“I daresay that you would’ve been _very_ pleased with how I looked back in the day,” he replied wistfully.  “I was told rather often that I was quite a handsome young buck, before I became the old, gray doddering stag you see before you today.”  A frown came to his wife’s face.

“Oh, Jenkins, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean that to sound like I don’t think you’re hot _now,_ because I do!” she rushed to say.  Jenkins smiled and patted her arm.

“I know that, my love, don’t worry,” he assured her.  “I’m merely reminiscing.”  Hoping to change the subject, she pointed at the tattooed band around his arm.

“You said that in the past tattoos were magical and had a purpose.  What’s that one for?” she asked.

“Those are hunting hounds running through an oak forest,” he replied.  “The oak symbolize strength, while the hounds symbolize loyalty and faithfulness, speed and persistence.  They and the knotwork are also symbols of good luck and protection.  It was traditionally placed around the arms of warriors as a form of sympathetic magic, to keep one’s arms strong and lasting in battle.”

“I think the magic still works, then,” she said playfully.  “You have very strong arms and I’m madly in love with them, especially when they’re wrapped around me!”  The immortal in the mirror smiled, pleased.  He turned to face Cassandra and enveloped her in his long arms.

“Like this?” he asked, then bent his head to kiss her.  She returned his kiss, and began to lightly brush her hands down his scarred back.  As she brought them up to run them over his stomach and chest, one hand touched the gauze bandage.  Surprised, she squirmed out of his arms and looked down at the sliver of white appearing from beneath the waistband of his pajamas.  Her bright blue eyes darkened with concern. 

“Jenkins, what _is_ that?” she demanded.  “What’s wrong with your hip?  Have you hurt yourself?”  Cassandra’s eyes widened as she suddenly put two and two together and realized what the bandage was covering up.  Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in dismay as she stepped away from her husband.

“Oh my God!” she breathed, her eyes moving to meet his.  “Your name-glyph tattoo—you had it _removed_!”  Her eyes now began to glisten with tears.  “Oh, Jenkins, _no_!  I loved that one!”  The immortal quickly stepped toward her and gently took her hands in his, a small smile on his lips.

“No, my love, I didn’t remove it,” he said soothingly.  “I had this done just this afternoon, and I wanted it to be a surprise, but I guess I better tell you about it now.”  He released her hands and pushed the waistband down, then gingerly removed the gauze pad for her, revealing a fresh tattoo.  Despite the redness and the swelling, she instantly recognized that it was a sun, done in the Celtic style so it would match his remaining tattoos.  The falcon itself was also red and swollen, and she could see that its lines had been refreshed.  It was now crisp and sharp to match the sun’s lines, which was placed above the falcon so that it looked as though the bird was flying toward it.  She looked up into his eyes again.

“Jenkins?” she asked, puzzled.  “What’s this for?”  A shy grin spread across his face as he replaced the gauze pad.

“Do you know what the name ‘Cassandra’ means, my dear?”  The Librarian shook her head.

“Not really.  I know _who_ Cassandra was—a prophetess that no one would listen to during the Trojan War, but I’ve never thought about the actual meaning of her name before,” she replied.

“It’s rather complicated, really,” Jenkins went on.  “It’s a combination of several ancient Greek words.  Suffice it to say that it means something like ‘Shining upon Mankind’.  I think it’s a beautiful, wonderfully fitting name for you, Cassandra.”  The young woman’s eyes shone, pleased, as he bent down to kiss her softly on the lips.  Jenkins pulled her to himself and lightly held her, moving his head so that he could murmur into her ear.

“I’ve thought a lot about what you said regarding how we belong to one another now, and why you got your tattoo, and I decided I would echo your sentiment by getting a new tattoo of my own.”  He loosened his arms and stood back a bit so he could see her face.

“In my homeland your name would’ve been depicted with a glyph of the sun—the brightest, purest object we knew.  And you _are_ certainly the brightest, purest light that shines upon me and my life, Cassandra.  Since the day we met, you’ve been the light that guides me out of the darkness of the past, that drives the darkness out of my soul.  You’ve saved me from myself.”  He cupped her face gently in his hands.

“And for that, I love you,” he finished quietly, gazing directly into her blue eyes.  “I love you so much that it actually hurts, sometimes.”  Cassandra dropped her eyes as she blinked back tears.

“I love you, too, Jenkins.”  It was all she could say without risking bursting into tears of joy.  Jenkins enfolded her in his arms again and held her against his bare chest, stroking her long hair with one hand.  She closed her eyes for a moment and let herself become lost in the feelings of love, happiness and peace that overwhelmed her.  She could hear his heart beating in her ear, loud and strong—that huge heart, so full of love for her, beating only for her, forever.  It made her dizzy to think of it.  After a few minutes she raised her head to look up into his handsome face.

“I have a little surprise for you, too,” she said, excitement creeping into her voice as she reluctantly pushed herself out of his arms.  As he looked on curiously, Cassandra stepped back and raised the hem of her pajama top, revealing a small white square of gauze taped over _her_ hip, where the Viking rune was located.  His brown eyes flicked up to stare into hers.

“What have you done now?” he asked, half-apprehensive, half-exasperated.  Cassandra giggled and gingerly peeled back the gauze.  The runic slave mark was now covered by a fresh tattoo, only hours old—a Celtic falcon, an exact copy of his own except smaller in size. 

“I just got mine today, too,” she said proudly.  She replaced the bandage and lowered the pajama top over it, then took her perplexed husband’s hands in hers as she explained.

“You had all of those runes removed so you wouldn’t have to see them anymore and be reminded of the past,” she said, glancing at his right shoulder, then shook her head as she spoke.  “I wasn’t going to leave mine, it would’ve defeated the whole purpose of you getting yours removed.”  Jenkins began to protest, but she waved him off. 

“You know it’s true, sweetheart!  Every time you looked at me, you would’ve been reminded of the time you were a slave, and I wasn’t going to do that to you.  But at the same time I still wanted something that we both shared—then I got the idea that instead of just removing the tattoo, I would have it covered by your falcon name-glyph.”  She smiled and gave him a mischievous look.

“You know—sort of like getting a tattoo of your name, only not as obvious?”  Jenkins looked down at her with misty eyes for a moment, then took her into his arms again and held her close.  _How does a mess of a man like me deserve such a wonderful woman as this?_ he marveled to himself.  Soon a soft rumble of laughter came from his throat.

“Well now—aren’t _we_ a pair?” he murmured into her hair, his lighthearted tone unable to completely hide the emotion he was feeling right now.  “We’re like an O. Henry story come to life, aren’t we, my love?”  He kissed the top of her head.  “Only instead of selling off our hair or selling off prized pocket watches, we’re added and removing tattoos.  So very 21 st Century of us, don’t you think?”  Cassandra gasped out a short, harsh laugh as she held onto Jenkins.

“You haven’t told me what the dragon stands for,” she said shakily, turning their talk to something less emotional before she lost control of herself completely.  Above her head, the Caretaker smiled at her bravery.

“Ah, _that_!” he began, pure pride seeping into his voice.  “According to a decree of King Arthur, only a person who had slain a dragon in single combat was allowed to receive _this_ particular tattoo.”  Cassandra pulled away and looked up into his face, awestruck.

“You killed a _dragon_?” she gasped.  “Really?  All by yourself?  A real fire-breathing dragon?”  Jenkins nodded solemnly.

“Indeed!” he confirmed.  “And a particularly nasty, vicious brute he was, too.  As soon as he woke up from hibernation he was tearing up the countryside—burning down farms and manors, eating every sheep he could find, terrorizing virgins.  It was just dreadful!”  The old knight shuddered dramatically at the memories.

“But I soon cooked _his_ goose, I can assure you!” he said firmly.  “And, an interesting fact, blood from the beast was actually mixed with the pigment used to create this tattoo; it was believed that the more admirable qualities of the slain dragon would literally be transferred to the owner of such a tattoo, actually become a part of him.  Much like some tribes and societies in more modern times would cut out the heart of an animal killed during a hunt and eat it on the spot, in the belief that the animal’s life essence and inherent traits are then transferred to the hunters.”  Cassandra stared at him, wide-eyed with admiration.  Suddenly her expression changed to one of suspicion.

“Wait...you said that Western dragons were nothing but thugs and slept all the time.  That doesn’t sound like something _I’d_ like to imitate!” she said.  Jenkins nodded his head slightly.

“Yes, I said that, but that was rather a broad generalization, I’m afraid,” he conceded.  “Western dragons _can_ be greedy, hoarding thugs, but they also possess more desirable traits.  They’re fearless, for instance.  They’re powerful, relentless.  Intelligent.  Cunning.  Devoted to their families.  All desirable qualities for a knight to possess, among others.”

“What other qualities?” the Librarian asked curiously.  A sly look came over the immortal’s face.

“Did you know, my dear, that when a dragon reaches sexual maturity, the first thing it does is to go out and find a mate?” he asked, seemingly changing the subject.

“And once they find a suitable partner, dragons mate for life,” he continued, almost dreamily.  “And once they are mated, dragons tend to be very... _amorous_.”  He looked down into Cassandra’s eyes and waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she burst into laughter.

“You mean they have lots of sex?” she asked in disbelief between giggles.  “Really?”

“Like fire-breathing rabbits!” Jenkins growled lustfully, dark eyes now twinkling.  “Allow me to demonstrate, for instance, how the dragon’s blood had gifted me with the beast’s... _endurance_?”  He swept the laughing redhead up into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, eager to point out to her all of the gifts of draconian prowess bestowed upon him by the magic of his inked dragon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, as always, especially to my tiny cadre of fans--you all are the best!


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